


A Fun Day at Work

by theboldsnake



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dealing with anxiety, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Office romance but in space, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboldsnake/pseuds/theboldsnake
Summary: You are one of the last remaining non-clone captains in the GAR’s fleet. Under the tutelage of your old mentor, Admiral Yularen, you’re determined to make history as the youngest admiral out there. Enter the wrench in your plans. Arc Trooper CT-27-5555. Fives.
Relationships: CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives & You, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	1. A Fun Day at Work

If you live through this battle, you’re going to _kill_ ARC Trooper CT-5555. There’s a whooping yell over the transmission, and something explodes in the sky to your left.  


You pinch the bridge of your nose, well aware of everyone’s eyes on you. You need this battle to go well. Not only is your reputation is hinging on it, but your old mentor, Admiral Yularen, is watching.  


Success here means a promotion and one step closer to being one of the youngest admirals out there. And while you’re not only out for the recognition and accomplishment, at the same time, it means a lot in your journey to make admiral in a world that has quickly shifted all its resources to implementing clones in positions that used to be held by people like you.  


“ARC-5555, what is going on out there?” You speak calmly, the only sign of your ire the way your eyebrow twitches.  


“Uh, everything’s fine, Captain. We’re making progress out here and- woah!” There’s another explosion, and you take a deep steadying breath, fully aware of the disapproving glance Admiral Yularen sends your way.  


“ARC-5555, you need to pull back. You’re losing men.” Normally, the ARC trooper wouldn’t be flying. He’s no pilot, and he’s only aboard your ship to be transported to one of his special assignments. But your forces are depleted, and he insisted if he was going to let his other men go, then he would too. It’s a leader’s job. You couldn’t argue with that, so here you are.  


“We’ll be okay, Captain. We’ve been through worse.” You look out the bridge window, past the dwindling number of fighters to the Separatists forces. The battlefield looks like chaos to the outside, and from the inside, it’s not that much better.  


You had a plan, one you’d all agreed on. That went out the window, at some point, apparently.  


“Captain,” Admiral Yularen says, “order your forces back before you lose them all.” You can hear the disapproval.  


“ARC-5555, as your commanding officer, I order you back to the ship. We need to retreat and regroup.” You watch as his ship zooms by, streaking fire and smoke across the sky.  


“Damn it, Fives,” you mutter under your breath. “Idiot, _listen_ to me.”  


“I know we can do this, Captain. Give us a chance.” One of the fighters explodes in a glorious blaze, and you suck in a sharp breath, afraid to breathe until you locate his ship, speeding back towards you.  


“Your men are hurt and getting picked off faster than you can defend them. For the good of everyone, _damn it_ , get back in here!” You know your voice is shrill, but at this point, you’ve already ruined this demonstration.  


“Fine.” His voice is clipped, but at least he listens to you. He’ll be mad at you when he gets back. You can deal with it. He’ll be one man in a _long_ line of people.  


You watch as the fighters dock, and the clones around you scramble to prepare the jump to hyperspace. Admiral Yularen is silent the entire time, but his gaze speaks volumes.  


Once you’re underway, he steps up beside you.  


“Thank you for the demonstration, Captain. I’ll take over from here.” It’s a cutting and effective dismissal. You bow your head - not like you can protest - and step back. You need a nap anyway. It’s been far too long since you last slept.  


So you bite your lip and keep your gaze straight ahead, avoiding the sympathetic stares of the clones around you.  


_He’s_ waiting by the door to your quarters by the time you make it down there, propped up on the wall and minus his helmet. His face is streaked with soot and sweat, and he must have come directly here after docking.  


“I’m not in the mood,” you say, keying in your code and entering. He ignores you, following you in like you knew he would.  


“Too bad.”  


You spin, slugging him in the shoulder as you do.  


“You’re an ass,” you say, the words lacking venom.  


“Ow. Did the old guy chew you out that bad?” He asks, leaning against your wall and crossing his arms. You know it hurt you more than it did him, because your knuckles as stinging from hitting his pauldron and he barely flinched.  


You have a… _complicated_ relationship with ARC trooper CT-5555. _Fives_.  


While you don’t usually work together, you’ve transported him and his men enough times to be familiar with him, and you have a sneaking suspicion he keeps tabs on your battle assignments just so he can try to get matching ones and spend more time with you.  


Still, your relationship is purely platonic at this point, and he’s managed to weasel his way into the position of one of your only friends. Maybe even your _best_ friend. You know you can trust him, even when he pulls stupid shit, and he knows he can count on you to have his back after said shit.  


But also… you two have to remain professional in the face of others, seeing as technically, relationships are forbidden, even if it’s platonic. You two are way too close, so you know it wouldn’t go over well. Plus, technically, you outrank him. (Something that bothers Fives to no end, you know.)  


“No. Just dismissed me.” You shrug off your officer’s coat, the collar stifling, and shake your hair out of the tight style you keep it slicked back in. It’s been giving you a headache all day.  


Fives picks the coat up off the floor and hangs it on your bedpost, ever organized.  


“What an asshole. Sit.” He pushes you down to the bed, scooting around behind you as he does. Fives tugs off his gloves, and he plunges his hands into your hair, fingers massaging your scalp.  


You moan, the stress melting away.  


“It’s okay. He just wants the best of the best. And today… wasn’t our best showing.” His fingers drift through the strands, heading downwards and gently squeezing your shoulders. You sag against him, head resting on his shoulder as your eyes close.  


“Sorry,” Fives says after you’ve been sitting in silence so long you’re nearly asleep. You can feel him playing with a strand of hair, twisting it around his finger and tugging gently.  


“‘S not your fault,” you say automatically, shifting into a more comfortable position. Now you can see his face.  


If anyone were to walk in, you’d be hard pressed to explain that this is purely platonic, two best friends just de-stressing around each other. It calms you down when Fives plays with your hair and it calms him down when you let him.  


“Yeah. Maybe. But I also know I’m not the best at listening when I’m in the heat of the moment.” He says it so deadpan, you almost think he’s being serious. But then you see the tiny crinkle of a smile in the corner of his lip. You shove his shoulder.  


“You? Stubborn? _Never._ ” He combs your hair back off your forehead and you tilt your head back with it, enjoying the way his calloused fingers trace over the nape of your neck.  


“I ought to stop doing this for that comment. Teach you a lesson.” His armor is not the most comfortable pillow in the world, but it’ll do in a pinch.  


Still…  


“You ought to stop in general. While I was dismissed from the bridge, they’ll want your report. And it’s only a matter of time before they come looking.” He groans and rests his head on your shoulder, face tilted into you neck. His breath tickles, and you shove at him.  


“I don’t wanna,” he says against your skin. “It’s so much nicer here.”  


“Stop it! That tickles,” you say, realizing your mistake only _after_ the words have left your mouth. Fives lifts his head and pulls back far enough to see your face.  


“Tickles, you say?” Your eyes go comically wide.  


“Fives. No. No, you need to get busy. Don’t you dare put your hands-” The rest of your sentence is cut off by a sharp yelp as Fives digs his fingers into your side. You twist away from him, but he’s too fast and too much bigger.  


He ends up straddling you, his legs on either side of your hips, pining you down and leaving you at his mercy.  


“Fives,” you pant out, in between his onslaught, “Maker, get off me.” You push at his chest, and this time, he lets himself be pushed. Only, he keeps his legs wrapped around you, so when he falls off the bed, you’re pulled with him.  


The two of you land in a graceless heap.  


“I yield,” you moan, on your back and out of breath, in tears from laughter. Fives is laughing nearly as hard as you are, his head on your chest and his shoulders shaking.  


He looks up at you, and you sober at the intensity in his gaze.  


“Retreating twice in one day, Captain?” He says. “That isn’t like you.” You roll your eyes.  


“Oh, please. If it’d been up to me, I’d have let you keep forcing the blockade. I know you’d eventually have done it. Might have killed yourself, but you would completed the mission in the process.” Fives tugs himself up, to where he’s laying on his side beside you on the floor, at eye level with you now. You trace the “five” on his temple with the tip of your nail, knowing he likes when you do that almost as much as he likes playing with your hair.  


“Yeah. But admit it, Cap. You’d miss me too much.” You’re opening your mouth to offer a biting reply when there’s a sharp rap at your door.  


“Captain? Is everything alright in there?” You close your eyes, briefly, collecting yourself. Admiral Yularen. Fives makes a face at the door, and it nearly sends you into stitches again.  


“Shut up,” you hiss, pushing yourself to standing. Fives throws his hands up.  


“I didn’t say anything!” You make another sharp gesture at him, and he tugs himself up, hiding on the other side of the door, out of the admiral’s line of sight.  


When the door opens, Admiral Yularen looks no more pleased than he did earlier.  


“Everything is fine, Admiral. Did you need something?” He eyes you, and you picture how you must look. Hair down, jacket off, face flushed. But clearly still wide awake.  


“I wanted to see you back on the bridge; now that everything has cooled down. We need to begin discussing our next move.” You nod, slipping back into your professional façade. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Fives imitating the admiral, trying to get a rise out of you. You’re doing your best to ignore him, which has to be driving the clone crazy.  


“Of course, Admiral. I’ll be up shortly.” He studies you again, then nods slowly, turning away.  


“Oh, by the way. You wouldn’t happen to know where ARC-5555 is, would you? I’m afraid he hasn’t been seen since his fighter landed earlier.” You shrug, doing your best to look innocent.  


“No, sir. I’ve been in my quarters since then. I’m sure he’s here somewhere. You know ARC-5555’s penchant for flouting the rules.” Fives pokes your side, hard, and you jump, biting your lip to keep from crying out.  


Admiral Yularen nods again, for once looking almost human as a pained expression crosses his face.  


“That I do.” Once he’s made his way down the hall, you close the door again and turn to face Fives.  


“I told you so,” you say, already pulling on your jacket, silently thankful to Fives for picking it up out of the floor earlier so it didn’t wrinkle.  


“He’s just got a stick up his ass,” Fives says, stepping in front of you.  


“Watch your tone, soldier,” you say, glaring at him as you try to do up the buttons without looking, only to mess up. You scowl in frustration and jerk your gaze down. You need to hurry.  


Fives bats your fingers away and does the buttons for you, smoothing out your collar once he’s done, before drifting behind you.  


“I can dress myself, you know. Somehow, I manage it every morning without you.” He runs his hands through your hair again, this time tugging it back into the tight style you keep it in when on duty. You can already feel the headache forming again.  


“That explains a lot,” he says. You thrust a foot back, trying to kick him, but he’s too fast, dodging out of the way and taking your hair with him.  


“Oww,” you howl, stumbling backwards. Fives laughs at your pain, and you scoff.  


“Bastard,” you mutter, finishing your hair yourself. He waits for you by the door, looking entirely too pleased with himself.  


“I know. But you love me anyways.” You roll your eyes and survey the room one last time, making sure you’ve got everything.  


“Do I though?” He clutches his chest, acting wounded. You don’t open the door yet, because that means going back to business professionals.  


“I hope so,” he says, suddenly serious. You look away, choosing to open the door before things get weird.  


You should have known he would do something. It’s _Fives_ , for fuck’s sake.  


He waits until the door is open - where _anyone_ can _see_ \- and then he leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The two of you linger like that, as your mind short circuits. His beard brushes against your skin, and your breath catches in your throat.  


And then he pulls back, tweaking your chin as he goes.  


“Bye, _sweetheart_. Have a fun day at work.” You can only stare at his back, jaw practically on the floor as your supposed best _friend_ heads off to file his reports.  


And just what are you supposed to do? Go to work and pretend that didn’t just happen? Pretend your heart isn’t about to beat out of your chest? What the _hell_ did he go and do that for?  


Damn it, you’re going to _kill_ him.  



	2. A Nice Gesture

Your eyes are burning, your shoulders are practically touching your ears, and your teeth are hurting from the way you have your jaw clenched.  


Maker, you’re stressed. Being one of the youngest, non-clone leaders of a fleet comes with a plethora of responsibilities that will have you going prematurely gray, you’re sure. The holopad flickers with another failed battle simulation and you blink back tears of frustration. Captains don’t _cry_. They get things done.  


You take another sip of caf, the scorching liquid serving to momentarily distract you as you wince at the bitter tase. You’ve been awake for well too long at this point, but there’s no time to rest. Any time now, you need to go back up to the bridge and present Admiral Yularen with your solution. He could tell the crew what to do, could clue you in on what he’s thinking, but you know he’s still making you suffer from your earlier defeat.  


It stings.  


Everyone is counting on you, counting on good decisions. Besides, every time you try to catch a quick nap, you end up staring at the ceiling, panicking over everything that needs to be done, barely able to breathe around the pressure in your chest.  


You sip the caf again.  


Part of this issue is you’re too outgunned to try and blunt force your way through the Separatist ships. But you also don’t have the strength to endure a lengthy back and forth battle. Your forces are low, the troops on the ground need the support of the ones up here, and your shields already took quite a beating.  


There’s a soft tap on your door.  


“It’s open,” you call, not willing to pry your eyes away from the next battle sim on your holopad. You scowl as your ship explodes in flames.  


“I could be wrong, but I don’t think that’s the result you’re looking for.” You groan at the sound of Fives’ voice, finally letting your head collapse onto your desk. You’re going to cry, at this point. Honestly and truly. You need him to not be an ass for _once_ in his life.  


Admiral Yularen has drilled discipline into you, calmness under pressure, but there’s just no winning this scenario. You’ve been stretched to the breaking point, and you don’t have anything left in you to give.  


“Are you okay?” Fives crouches beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You don’t lift your head, working to compose yourself before trying to speak.  


“No,” you say, voice muffled by your arms. He rubs your back, hand tracing up and down. With the other, he tugs the holopad out from under you. You lift your head enough to rest it on your arms, studying his face.  


“When’s the last time you slept?” He asks, brushing some loose hair off your forehead. You two haven’t talked about the way Fives kissed you there last time, and you don’t think you’re going to. Which is fine. Best to leave anything that could ruin this nice little friendship in the past.  


“Hmm… two shift changes ago? Maybe?” He rolls his eyes.  


“You need sleep. You’re due back on the bridge soon, and no one wants a sleepy captain.” You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face back in your arms.  


“I know. I know, but I can’t fall asleep, and I don’t have a solution to our problems, and everyone is counting on me.” Your voice hitches at the end, tears of pure exhaustion springing to your eyes, and you hate it. Fives sighs, rubbing your back one more time, as you gasp out shaky, shuddering breaths. Maker, why can’t you breathe? What is _wrong_ with you?  


“C’mon,” he says, nudging your hip with his as he stands. You look up at him through watery eyes.  


“What?” Fives pulls on your hand, tugging you to standing. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, the other staying tight around your back. He’s solid and warm, even through his armor, and you feel like nothing could hurt you in his arms.  


It’s a comforting, protective gesture. It’s nice. You relax in his arms, your rapid breathing slowing some, the coolness of his armor on your forehead grounding you.  


Eventually, you calm down enough to wrap your own arms around him, and he tightens his hold _just_ a little. You sag against him, letting him take some of the weight off your shoulders.  


When he starts to pull away, the loss is something sharp and distinct in your chest, cutting you in a way you weren’t expecting. You beat the feeling to the back of your mind, locking it away tightly where it can never see the light of day.  


Except, it’s Fives, so he doesn’t just leave you standing there. Instead he puts one arm around your shoulders and kneels, caving in the backs of your knees and standing in the same motion, so you’re effectively lifted into his arms.  


“Fives!” you gasp, struggling in his grip.  


“Easy,” he says, adjusting his hold so you’re securely in his arms. “Don’t make me drop you.” You shove weakly at his chest, and Fives compensates for it by pulling you tighter against him, so you can hear his heartbeat, through the armor.  


“Put me down, you jerk. I can walk.” He ignores you (big surprise) and walks over to the bed. Then he smiles down at you, the look so achingly tender you’re worried there might be more to this friendship than you thought.  


And then he practically _throws_ you onto the bed, with enough force that you bounce, and would have fallen off if not for the way he blocks you with his legs.  


“Ouch and get your knee out of my spine,” you say with a groan, rubbing your back, where it caught the hard ridge of his armor. He laughs, tugging off pieces of his armor before crawling onto the bed beside you.  


It is not the first time the two of you have shared a bed. In fact, more often than not, Fives finds himself in your room, and the two of you take a nice nap. He makes a wonderful pillow, and your quarters are _leagues_ quieter than his.  


But there’s a charged energy this time around, one that makes you hyper-aware of his presence. When he accidentally trails a finger over your side, you jump like you’ve been burned.  


“Jumpy, are we?” Fives asks. You roll your eyes, swallowing hard and reminding yourself to get it together. _Lock it away_ , your mind chants.  


“No. It still hurts from where you _threw_ me.” It’s a lie and he knows it (you’re both _terrible_ liars), but Fives doesn’t comment on it. Instead he waits for you to make yourself comfortable, watching as you tug at the sheets and try to straighten them out.  


“If you made your bed every morning, you wouldn’t have this problem,” he says. You stick your tongue out at him, annoyed when the sheets catch on the corner.  


“Not all of us are inclined to organization,” you say. He pokes your side again - his favorite move - and takes the sheet from you in your distraction, pulling hard enough to straighten it out.  


“It’s not organization. It’s called being prepared. Besides, if you had someone checking every other day to make sure your shit was in shape, you’d be organized too.” You adjust your actual pillow, flipping it to the other side and moving it to the center so he can share it.  


“I do have people checking in. Admiral Yularen, for one. But then also you.” He casts a mock-disgusted look around your room, which has clothes strewn everywhere, several mugs on your desk, and multiple pairs of serviceable shoes spread around.  


“Doesn’t show,” he says. You ignore him, finally settling in. Fives slumps down beside you, the bed hardly big enough for the both of you. Your knees knock together until he shifts and twines his legs with yours. You tuck your hands under you chin, staring up at him.  


“You’re one to talk, anyways. I hear your men talking. You might be more organized than me, but like hell are you that organized compared to your other men. Everything in my room has a place, and sometimes, that’s the floor.” You go to pull a leg free, so you can nudge him with it and drive your point home, but he catches your thigh in his hand before you can tug it out. He squeezes _just_ slightly, and you feel the slightest bit dizzy.  


“That works right up until you need to find something, and then it’s buried under five layers of maker know’s what,” he says, firmly trapping your legs in his.  


“I know exactly where everything is. Seriously, ask me, and I’ll tell you.” Fives drapes an arm over your side, snuggling you closer to him.  


“I know what you’re doing. Stop stalling and go to sleep.” He uses his stern voice on you, the one he saves for his men in battle. You… You do not expect the little _fires_ that start in your belly.  


It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him to make you. Pushing Fives is fun, always gets a great reaction, and it would distract you from the constant worry gnawing at the back of your head. But you refrain, because as much fun as it is to mess with Fives, you really _do_ need sleep. And starting another battle with him won’t accomplish that.  


“I can’t,” you tell him honestly. “Every time I close my eyes, I start freaking out over what I could be doing. What I should be doing.” His face is soft, and it’s moments like this you remember why he’s such a good friend. He reaches for you, once more tucking you into his arms. This time, there’s no armor separating you two, and you bury your nose in the warmth of his skin, his blacks soft against your face.  


Like this, you find it hard to conjure up all your worries, because all you can focus on is him. Gradually, you find yourself breathing in time with him, eyelids drooping.  


“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs, gently carding his fingers through your hair.  


You end up coming up with the solution while cradled in Fives’ arms. Even though you sleep, and blissfully so, your subconscious is continually working.  


It catalogues the feel of Fives against you, notes the way his arms tighten around you, pulling you into his chest, the way his beard tickles your skin and his lips unintentionally brush over your ear as he shifts in his sleep.  


Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you register all this, in the midst of running countless battle sims in your head.  


And when your soft alarm chimes and your eyes open on instinct, you have some ideas that are actually worth presenting to Admiral Yularen.  


Gently, you try to wriggle out of Fives’ arms, not wanting to wake the trooper up. As much as you need sleep, he probably needs it more.  


“Mhm. Where ya goin’?” he manages to slur out, voice deep and rusty with sleep. You smile down at him, at the way he squints up at you.  


“I have to get up on deck.” He rubs a hand over his eyes and shakes his head as he pushes himself up onto an elbow.  


“Jus’ stay here. It’s much nicer.” You find your jacket on the floor where you left it and shake it out, wincing at the extra wrinkles in it and glad Fives is too sleepy to take note. You just know he’d rib you for it otherwise.  


“Can’t. I have to help Admiral Yularen save our sorry asses.” You finish dressing and give Fives a final look. He’s trying to collect himself to leave, but maker, he looks exhausted.  


“Stay here,” you offer. “Get some more sleep.” He looks at you with such gratefulness in his eyes as he collapses back onto the mattress.  


“Jus’ make sure to lock the door. Be a little awkward if someone walked in expecting you and got me,” he says. “I know your key code, so I can get out when I need to.” You roll your eyes. Of course he knows your code.  


“Ass,” you say. “That’s private.” He waves you off, already having closed his eyes again. You linger, watching as his breathing evens out as he falls back asleep. Your alarm chimes softly again, reminding you that you should be entering the bridge right about now.  


Instead, you take a step closer to Fives. Then another. Then another. You wait, making sure he stays asleep.  


And then you lean in and press a feather soft kiss to his temple, right over the five.   


It’s a nice gesture, you reason. A show of _friendship_.  


(He isn’t asleep.)  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bother me on Tumblr as @kill-the-feels for more clone and Star Wars shenanigans! :)


End file.
